


Guess What Its Gay

by wants2die



Category: Fall Out Boy
Genre: M/M, this is gay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-16
Updated: 2015-10-16
Packaged: 2018-04-26 15:37:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 961
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5010268
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wants2die/pseuds/wants2die
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>based on that one tumblr post thats like [jokes about making out with you until it actually happens]</p>
            </blockquote>





	Guess What Its Gay

“We should make out,” Pete says, his words muffled by Patrick's shirt and skin. He raises his head and grins laser-bright at Patrick. The brightness in his eyes shouldn't hurt, but it does. How dare Pete Wentz be so pretty and still be _joking_?

Patrick shoves at Pete's shoulder until the older boy falls onto the floor with a satisfying thud. “Fuck off,” he says, rolling over to glare at Pete. “Asshole.”

* * *

“Andy and Joe probably think we snuck off to make out,” Pete says, too loud in the quiet, cramped air. “Unfortunately, I'm stuck with a tragic heterosexual. Fate is just against us, Patrick.”

Patrick has never been claustrophobic, but Pete is pressed up too tight against his chest and the door is still separating him from his freedom. His breath is too fast and light, and he feels sick. Pete's wrong, so _wrong_ , about Patrick, about everything, and it makes Patrick sick.

“Shut up,” he says quietly, and for once, Pete does.

* * *

“Pete,” Patrick says. The word is a gasp, a prayer, a _please be okay, you have to be okay_. He shakes Pete's shoulder, bile rising in his throat as Pete's head flops. “Pete, wake up. Wentz.”

After a moment, the older boy's eyes creak open, bleary, shafts of whiskey in his too-pale face. “Patrick,” he whispers. “My knight in shining armor.”

“Jesus, Pete,” Patrick says. “How much have you had to drink?”

“Lot,” Pete says, face screwed in concentration. He slumps against the wall. “'m sorry, Pat. Too much. Don't hate me, Patty, please. There was a guy and beer and I'm not okay, Patrick.”

“It's okay,” Patrick says, quietly. “You're gonna be okay. You want me to sit with you for a while? Andy will be here soon. He'll take care of you.”

Pete nods, head lolling against the wall. He sends a tired, closed smile at Patrick. “I woul' kiss you to show my apper - my apee - my thanks but you're too good for me, Patty. I wouldn' deserve you. You don' deserve me.”

Patrick holds Pete's hand tight in his own and tells himself it's just the alcohol talking, spinning words of fool's gold from Pete's mouth. It hurts, but Patrick knows it's the truth.

* * *

Pete jokes about it on Twitter. Patrick doesn't have one, doesn't get the point of condensing thoughts in 140 characters, but Joe shows it to him with a curious little frown. “Pete tweets about you,” he mentions in passing, and Patrick demands to see screenshots.

(He's not totally out of touch. He knows what a screenshot is, mostly from the lessons Joe holds once in a while to teach Patrick about the world outside the bus.)

He scrolls through them and something acid bubbles in his throat, like anger, like heartbreak. With icy, numb fingers he hands Joe's phone back to him and crawls into his bunk. Why does Pete spill secrets like that? It must not mean as much to Pete, then, this fragile, soft thing that Patrick thought was forming between them, webbing them together with frail strings of hope.

For nearly a week, the only thing shared between them is frozen silence.

* * *

 _Patrick_ , Pete says, too late at night, a dark, warm presence at Patrick's shoulder. “ _Patrick, I know you're not asleep_.”

 _Fuck off_ , Patrick murmurs, reaching a lazy arm behind him and fumbling for his phone. “ _Pete_ ,” he says, the light of his screen casting shadows on Pete's cheeks. “It's two in the morning.”

“Couldn't sleep,” Pete whispers. _Needed you_.

“Come here,” Patrick sighs, opening his arms in a hug. “Bad dreams again?” he whispers once Pete is curled into Patrick's bed, next to him, head against Patrick's shoulder and a hand playing with the hem of Patrick's shirt. Pete whimpers.

“ _It was about you_ ,” he says after a moment. “I dreamed about you. You weren't real. There was no you, Patrick. I was so lonely. I don't want you to leave me.”

Patrick pulls Pete tight against him. “I'm here,” he says softly. “I'm real. I'm never leaving you.” He hums the words into Pete's hair. “I love you.”

Wetness leaks onto Patrick's neck, Pete's tears slipping down his pale skin. Patrick wraps his arms tight around Pete, feeling the solid warmth of Pete against him, the weight of Pete in his arms. “I love you so much, Pete,” he mumbles. “This week sucked. Don't ever let me do that again.”

“I figured out why you were mad at me,” Pete whispers, after a moment when his tears have stopped. “Joe told me. He said he showed you all the things I said about you and you got upset.”

Patrick nods. “You know I don't like when you joke about that stuff,” he says, his voice catching over stuff. “It hurts my feelings, Pete.”

“You got upset because you thought I was joking?” Pete asks, eyebrows knitting together. “Why would you think I was joking? Patty, I meant all of that. You're my other half.”

“You don't love me,” Patrick whispers, dry against the sticky-warm air. “Not the way I love you. I'm in love with you, Pete. I know you like me and you love my voice and you love the band, but you don't love me back. And that's okay, I can deal with that. But when you joke about it like that-”

Pete has warm, calloused hands, and they're dark against Patrick's pale skin when Pete cups his cheeks. “Patrick,” Pete says, like a prayer, and then he's kissing Patrick and it's soft and sticky and like every one of Patrick's favorite dreams. “I'm in love with you too,” Pete mutters between peppering Patrick's lips with soft kisses.

Patrick feels - the opposite of sick. Light and airy and so, so happy.


End file.
